Grenadine
by tdinttwrt
Summary: A Gothic Doctor Who tale. Charley Pollard finds herself imprisoned in the depths of the Tardis by a shape-shifting doppelgänger of the 8th Doctor. Powerless to free her, the Doctor can only try and keep up her spirits as he desperately works to discover the identity, and intentions, of the intruder, and the reasons for their captivity.
1. Follow Me Down

Follow Me Down

"Follow me. Follow me down, girl."

The glow of his velvet coat was the last thing to disappear into the darkness.

"Doctor, I can't see you any longer! In fact, I can't see anything at all," Charley added.

"Don't dawdle, girl." The Doctor's voice was urgent, and uncharacteristically cold.

Charley carefully reached out a hand on either side to contact cool metal walls, steadying herself as she picked her way down the narrow, steep stairs after him. Not a photon reached into this stairwell, evidently. The absolute darkness was disorienting. She felt fear building in her chest at the idea she might be in danger of losing her balance and tumbling forwards. Perhaps even more frightening was her alien friend's suddenly odd behavior.

"'Girl'? Since when do you call me 'girl'? It's one thing to go rushing off down into the dark like this and demanding I come along, but if you're going to be rude while you do it, you can go back to addressing me as 'Miss Pollard', thank you very much! Oooph!" Charley's protestations and forward progress stopped suddenly in a collision with the Doctor's broad back. "I assume we're at the bottom now, but what on earth…"

"Not on Earth, Charlotte. We're still in the Tardis. Now here, let me open this door." Charley could hear the Doctor working what must be a key in a lock. The tumblers clicked and an abundance of welcome, warm light burst onto the small landing to which they had descended. "Go in."

"Seriously, Doctor, what's this all about?" To get by him into the room she had to squeeze past, brushing against him in a rather intimate way. The brief contact made her acutely aware of the smell of him. Paper and vetivert and something antique, like old pressed roses. She stepped a few feet into what appeared to be a small study, complete with plush oriental carpets, an overstuffed divan, shelves of leather-bound volumes, glowing brass lamps and a cheerful fire crackling in an ornate hearth. In other words, exactly the sort of private room she imagined the Doctor would have.

"Is this some sort of Time Lord version of a priest's hole? It's quite cosy!" She turned around to give him a smile, but a prick of alarm began as she could not quite pick out his face in the gloom of the landing. All she could make out of him was a passing impression, as if out of the corner of her eye, and what she saw was frightening. His eyes were penetratingly dark, his face stony and impassive, staring at and into her in a way she had never seen or imagined she ever would. She felt like a small mouse, about to be run down by a raptor in some cold, starry field of winter wheat, all stalks, with nowhere to hide. She steadied her nerves against the impression and bravely challenged, "All right, I've done as I've been told, I've come in, and now it's your turn to explain. What's going on? What's in here?"

The Doctor reached in for the doorknob and in a flash slammed the door closed between them. As the tumblers fell into place in the lock once more, he answered her question.. "You are, Charlotte Pollard. You are what's in there."

"Doctor, that's not funny!" Charley ran to the door and began to bang on it with her fists, after trying the knob with no success. "Let me out this instant! I demand you let me out!"

"Now, be a good girl and try to stay calm," he spoke sternly through the door. "You'll only upset yourself further if you carry on. There's everything you need in there for now. Some fruit and tea and some very nice crumpets, warm from the oven, books to read, and an armchair to read them in, a nice daybed for a bit of a nap if you like, and, facilities, well, they're through that little door just there to your right. There's plenty of coal for the fire. I'll be back when I can."

Charley could not believe her ears when she heard him start to ascend the stairs. "You can't just lock me up in here with no explanation! Why, this is KIDNAPPING!" The footsteps faded and with no response, she huffed out, "Well, I never!"

Scowling, she turned around in the little room again, taking in more detail. There was a lovely tea cart set up for her. She passed over the plate of crumpets that were, indeed, steaming, and picked up a beautiful large pomegranate from an arrangement of fresh fruit. She turned it in her hand, contemplating her predicament. "Don't tell me, there's some terrible danger afoot, and I'm being sent away down here for my own good. Oh, Doctor, don't you know I'm not afraid of anything as long as I'm by your side? I will find a way out of here, and come to help you with whatever it is, whether you like it or not. And now I'm talking to a pomegranate…" She plopped down in the armchair, with a sigh. "Oh, how I am going to give him the what-for and but good, when he comes back. He's behaving so strangely. Calling me 'girl', and then 'Charlotte' when he knows I prefer 'Charley'. Luring me down here. Locking me away. How dare he, really!"

Worry followed quickly at her anger's heels. What if something were to happen, up there, and he was injured, or worse, and here she would remain, locked in the depths of the Tardis. How long until the food or air ran out? "Best just be angry, for a while, at least. That's better than our other options, isn't it, Mr. Pom?"

She studied the fruit for a moment. She could almost make out the reflection of her face in its shining skin. Deep red and purple, smooth...in an odd way the beauty of it was comforting right now. It seemed to beckon her to open it. On the tea tray was a small but sharp knife. Charley took it up, along with a small china bowl, and settled back into the armchair. Placing the pomegranate into the bowl, she carefully scalped it with the knife, revealing the array of compartments stuffed with juicy, fragrant wine-coloured seeds. "If I am to be imprisoned here, might as well enjoy the nosh," she declared, and with poorly restrained anger and frustration, stuck her forefingers roughly into the thick, white core of the fruit, ripping down and out, splaying it open, without a care for the several seeds that flew away and out of the bowl, onto the carpet, or for how they might splash and stain. 

oOo

The Doctor was whistling lightly as he perambulated his time rotor in the night, checking on this and that. Nothing going on of note. Just a Time Lord and his Tardis, spinning aimlessly in the vortex, waiting for Charley to wake up again. There was not much to keep him occupied whilst his companion slept. Books, yes, always more reading to do, and there was that watercolor set he had been meaning to drag out again...but tonight especially he felt twitchy and longed for something more stimulating. There had been a restless, niggling sort of energy working its way through him all evening, as if some exciting idea for a new sort of adventure was trying to break into his mind, but could not quite coalesce. Two hours ago he had bid his companion good night with a sigh, unhappy to see her disappear down the hallway towards her private rooms, the fading _kit-kit_ sounds of her little leather boots on the Tardis floor emphasizing his growing state of pique. He felt like a child waiting for a birthday party to start, who has been told the guests are late.

His tune shifted to a melancholic Scottish lullaby. He began softly singing it into the hushed gloom, in its original Ghaeligh: "_Obhan, obhan, obhan iri, 's mor mo mhulad 's mor; My darling of the Domhainn folk, They spilled your blood today, And placed your head on an oaken stake, Near where your body lay…_ Goodness, did they really sing that to children?" he wondered aloud. He spied one lone thumb print on a brass corner of the console, and slowly polished it off with an elbow of his velvet coat, his handmade lace sleeves which dripped from his wrists dragging along behind to add a finishing gleam.

This artificial night cycle he had programmed into the Tardis to keep his companions comfortable, and the enforced down-time that came with it, these he supposed were his penance for bringing Humans into his life. That, and they always wanted to keep the Tardis so _hot_. There were many times he had to strip off his frock coat for Charley, as he ratcheted up the thermostat, and she would still complain of goosebumps on her plump, dear little arms. Yes, he thought fondly, it was worth it to have her with him. If only she would sleep just a few hours less, though, then there would be more time for their fun.

He began speaking to himself again. "Now if I had developed a _penchant_ instead for, say, Vigilians, there would be oh so many more adventures, for they never sleep. On the down side, they do have ravenous appetites. No, I suppose they'd eat me out of house and home. Or they might just eat me-they've been known to do that, too. There's that sad story I heard, about one poor Time Lord who went off course, and thus became the main course at a Vigilian feast. Let's see, that was back when President Humpcheck the Frail was in office… Now there was someone who needed to watch his appetite, poor devil. Regenerated on his Inauguration Day, I believe, from food poisoning... And I'm rambling, aren't I? Rambling on and rambling about. That's me all over." He lifted his face to the time rotor. "Do you hear me, Tardis, old girl? Rambling!" He reached out to stroke her console. "But, poor thing, just spinning there, perhaps you feel the same? Do you ever get bored?"

A small blue light began blinking on the console. Surprised, he remarked, "Can I take that as a 'Yes'?" The blinking continued. With a start, he realised the light was a message from his ship, but not a piece of casual conversation. No, this was an alert of some sort, and not just a simple fault-that would have been a steady light. No, this light was blinking, and that was not good, and even worse, the light was on the panel for the Trans-dimensional Integrity Array.

The Doctor leapt into action-the Tardis' containment field was something to be taken very seriously. The slightest breach could let in howling, burning time winds, or worse, entire sections of the Tardis might go springing out into the vortex. "What a mess that would be," the Doctor said, and then, "Come on, come on, why are you blinking at me?" for though he checked and re-checked every instrument, he could find nothing out of the ordinary. Except the one light. He wrinkled his brow and frustratedly ran the palm of his hand back and forth across it. "Think, Doctor, think…"

He did not have much more time to think, as a sudden lurch of the ship sent him reeling into a great bronze armillary sphere he kept on display atop a heavy marble pedestal, sending both to the floor with a terrible crash.

He fought off a moment's disorientation. Now there was, definitely, something trying to break into his mind, but it was not any notion of a fun adventure. It was something, or someone, emanating pure malice of intent, bearing down upon him and his ship. He felt a rising sense of urgency to get up off the floor and fight it, but his body was pinned beneath the pedestal. One arm was twisted up beneath him, and he realised he had struck his head right where the celestial azimuth met the jutting, sharp edge of the band of the horizon on the armillary. "Oh, my arm," the Doctor moaned, and then, "ow, my head," he managed to add, as a last thought of "Must warn Charley…" passed through his mind, before he roundly blacked out. 

oOo

"Wakey-wakey," he softly called, his voice tender for her. When she did not immediately rouse, he lifted a corner of the soft cashmere coverlet draped over her sleeping form and wiggled it across her stockinged toes. That got her eyes to open, and she blinked drowsily.

"Oh, hello!" she greeted him. "I fell asleep. Sorry, I'm not one for naps, generally!" She sat up and yawned.

"Nap away all you like, I think you had a busy day. You must have needed the extra rest." He gave her a smile as he went to hang up his hat, then headed to the tea tray to pour himself a cup. As he stirred in his usual two lumps, she stood and came to join him.

Placing a friendly hand on his shoulder, she asked, "Is the tea hot enough?"

"Perfect, perfect as always," he assured her.

He sat down in the comfortable chair and motioned for her to join him on its arm, encouraging her to swing her legs across his lap. "How was your day, then?" she inquired.

In between sips of his tea he stole kisses along her cheek, which set her to giggling, so that she almost missed his answer. "Busy! Today was a particularly busy session," he said. "I won't try and confound your lovely blonde head with the details, but I can sum it up for you-energy moved through several dozen transactions, across four vectors, I think. And then, my little pigeon, it all came home to roost right here with us."

Charley returned his kisses with one of her own, to his temple, from which she brushed one soft, brown lock. "It's always so nice here, darling, thank you. You do so much for us, work so hard." She gave a few more tender strokes to his temple.

He patted her twice on her knee. "Let me up, love, I fancy something to eat."

She got to her feet, admonishing him, "No, let me serve you, please. You've done enough today." Over at the tea cart, she listed his options for him, when she saw what they were-leftover Yorkshire pudding from today's full Sunday roast beef dinner, fresh fruit, or a slice of lovely, fluffy cake with whipped cream and strawberries.

"One of each, please," he grinned, and she busied herself fixing him a plate, placing it before him at the card table in front of the hearth to which he had removed himself. As he ate hungrily, she rested on the edge of the divan, watching him. She hoped his appetite was good, she did like to see him enjoy his food.

"Charlotte," he managed between mouthfuls, "did you eat your pomegranate today?"

"Of course," she replied. "It was ever so juicy. Can there be another tomorrow?"

"As many as you like, darling. I'll see you have more than you could possibly eat." Finished with his own repast, he carefully wiped his mouth with one of the fine Irish linen napkins they were so proud of. Charley came and took up his plate and silver, and the napkin, taking them back to the tea tray, then pushing them carefully into that dimly-lit greyish haze where things went when you were done with them.

She lay back down on the low divan. As he came to her, she welcomed him with open arms, and he stretched out alongside her, kicking off his shoes. They snuggled up nicely, her head on his broad chest, their legs sliding along together, playing a languid sort of footsie, in companionable quiet. After a few minutes passed, she sat up straight in the overstuffed armchair, and smiled at him as he busied himself at the door, donning his hat.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?" he replied, pulling on his gloves.

"Is there something I'm forgetting?"

"No, love, I don't think there is."

"Oh. Alright, then."

"It's such a nice morning out, I believe I shall walk to the Exchange today!" He took up a silver-handled walking cane from the oak stand by the door.

"No, darling, take the umbrella, instead, it may rain this afternoon."

"Quite right, thank you, my dove. Now come kiss me off." He held out his hands to her, and she dutifully arose and took them, leaning up to brush his lips lightly with her own. "There's a new puzzle for you in front of the fire," he said. "I know how you relish a new puzzle! Enjoy yourself."

"Yes, and good luck at the Exchange today! Your tea will be waiting when you come home."

"Yes, it will be, Charlotte, it will be. I'm certain of it." With that, he was out the door.

She walked the few steps to the card table, and regarded her new puzzle box. "Massacre of the Innocents, by Peter Paul Rubens," she read. "Ooh, a classic!" Studying the painting on the lid, she smiled happily and commented, with relish, "The deep use of chiaroscuro will make this one a pleasure."

Dumping out the pieces, she flipped each over face-up, sorting the edges and corners out into a separate pile as she went, humming a little tune under her breath for some company. Beginning the puzzle in earnest, she placed the corners. Working diligently, the corners soon turned to runs, which became longer runs, which eventually coalesced into an entirely completed frame. By mid-morning she was ready to begin on the human figures-backgrounds would come last. She decided to start with the bright, out-standing tones of the creamy pale skin and strawberry blonde hair of a plump infant. As she pieced the babe together, the edges of it led easily to the adjacent figure; a swarthy man, tending to the child with the point of his sword. The weapon's steel-gray thrust gave the image a clear orientation, that Charley felt confident would match the general lines of composition of the right-hand side of the painting.

She stared down at her finished section. A sense of unease began to creep upon her, just at the edges of her mind. "Something is not right, here," she murmured. Restless now, she got up and fiddled with the fire.

"A spot of dinner, that's what I'm wanting," she concluded. She regarded the tea tray, finding upon it a covered casserole with a full, steaming Sunday dinner of roast beef, potatoes, gravy and a stack of savory Yorkshire puddings. She served herself, sitting back down at table, and tucked in, contemplating her puzzle, comparing it to the painting on the box lid, as she ate.

When she was sated, she pushed her dinner things into the haze and with a tremendous sense of satisfaction realised she had found her error.

"Aha! The soldier is spearing the little baby girl with a _downward_ thrust-why that belongs to the left!" She moved the section as one piece, from the right to the left of her puzzle, and sat back, appreciating her morning's work. A wash of happiness overtook her-it would be time for her pomegranate, soon. "How nice he makes things for us, here," she thought, and took up the search for puzzle pieces that might match the next logical figure. Abutting below, she began matching up the pieces for a weeping woman, the best clues being in the color of her half ripped-apart garment, which was a distinct and relaxing shade of gathering-storm-cloud blue.

oOo

The malevolence had left him. In its wake was pain, specifically in his right temporalis, a noticeable amount of mental confusion, and the stench of propylene glycol. A mass of greyish mist swirled about him. _Stage smoke,_ he mused. _Wonder if we're putting on a show. A misty moor… the Scottish play?_ He looked about to see if there might be other players, or a set, but could only make out that he was lying on a cold metal floor, at the junction of three hallways. "Is it my cue?" he called. He rubbed his head and took a few deep breaths. Some of the confusion cleared, and he realised this was real. He was not on a stage, he must be aboard his Tardis. He could feel his ship humming around him.

"How could you have allowed anything on board, old girl?" he asked her in a accusatory tone. "You're supposed to be my _sanctum sanctorum_! Impenetrable, I was promised! Now where the devil am I? I don't recognize this section."

Looking about, he noticed one of the hallways seemed brighter than the other two. He struggled to his feet and lurched a few steps into it. He could make out a pulsing, vibrating light about forty metres down. He gathered his senses as best as he could, and picked his way towards the shimmering. Golden, pretty. He felt in his heart this was a good way to go.  
As he approached it, it resolved into a flowing shower of individual sparks. Not the crackling, threatening kind. No, these sparkings were welcoming, and he felt if he put his hands into the streams, he would feel something soft and delightful.

"Hello, there, greetings!" he saluted the light. As many species as he had met in his centuries of travel, addressing this collection of sparklers as if it was sentient seemed the most sensible thing to begin with. _Best to err on the side of manners,_ he thought. "May I ask how you got aboard my Tardis? And why there's stage smoke drifting through her halls? I mean, all this mist, it's manufactured, yes?" He waited patiently but there was no answer. He tried again. "Have you seen my companion? Blonde girl, short, talkative, with rosy cheeks?"

At that, the stream brightened then parted, making a sort of window through which he could see her clearly. "Charley!" he called out to her, but she evidently could not hear him. She was seated at a table, doing a jigsaw puzzle. He was relieved to see she was not injured or distressed. In fact, she looked positively relaxed. The room was one of which he had no recollection. He had never been in it, and was not aware of such a place being on his ship. "Charley!" he tried hailing her again. She did not look up. Sighing, he knew there was nothing for it but to try to get through the opened way, and hope that it was safe.

With a good thrust of his legs, he vaulted through the stream of sparks, arriving with a crash upon a large tea trolley, that immediately began careening across the room with him atop it in a crouch. "Doctor!" Charley got up and ran to stop the cart's progress before it smashed into the wall. It was hard to halt it, and it might have smashed her had the Doctor not leapt off it to the floor, making it lighter and easier to block.

"Charley, are you all right?"

"Well of course, but why are you riding atop the tea trolley? Silly man." She came over and gave him a kiss on his cheek, with a huge, welcoming smile. "I am so glad you're home for supper! I suppose that deserves a grand entrance!"

"Yes, right… Charley, do you know where you are? Are you here alone?"

She looked around from the front door to the fireplace and then back at him. "Why, the parlor. And not alone, my husband is right here, aren't you! You're out of sorts. You must be having a day of it. Is there trouble at the Exchange?" She looked genuinely worried for him.

"Husband? Charley, you're confused. I think there's an intruder on board. I've had a knock on the head and feel a bit dazed, too. Do you remember anything? A fall? Do you remember how you got here?"

"An intruder! No, not here. We're safe as houses," she giggled, "when we're _in_ our house. It's not dangerous like outside, that's why I'm safe in here and you go out, not I. Outside bad, in here, fine. No, nothing bad can happen here. Definitely not. And I feel safest when you're home, my beloved. You make it so very nice for me, that way." She moved to him and leaned up on her toes and kissed him. Lightly but with warmth and a touch of actual passion, upon his lips, so that when she pulled away, he felt his tingle with missing the pressure of hers, and was aware of the aroma of her, and the downy nature of her skin.

He stepped back quickly, bumping into the tea cart, almost sending it rolling again. He could say nothing but look at her with astonishment. Charley did not seem to notice his reaction. She stepped around him to the trolley, sing-songing, "Let us see what there is to eat!" He watched her lift the lid off a heavy silver casserole that he knew had not been there just moments before. "Oh!" she said, turning a delighted face to him, "it's a proper Sunday feast! Now sit down, darling, and let me fix you a plate, before you have to go back out. Can't be at supper all day, or they'll start to miss you, and we can't have that."

The Doctor studied the room they were in. He extended his senses to suss out anything that might be out of the ordinary, any area of twisting time or other clues as to what might be going on. Other than the magically appearing food, and Charley's delusions, he could find nothing out of the ordinary. Charley trotted over with a plate and set it down before him. "Now eat your fill, love. Roast beef, potatoes and gravy, and fresh-from-the-oven Yorkshire puddings. What a treat today!" She handed him a napkin, and the Doctor looked down at his dinner. On the plate sat two little yellow capsules, side by side, along with a glass of water to wash them down.

He looked at her with renewed concern. "Charley," he asked, "how much of this have you had?"


	2. Parlor Games

Parlor Games

"I beg your pardon?" Charley did not seem to understand the question.

"Never mind, just come on, let's get you out of here. Follow me." The Doctor got up and went to the tea cart. "Now, up you go!" He bent down and made a stirrup of his hands, urging her with a toss of his head to mount atop the trolley.

"You're mad!" she giggled, but she managed to scramble atop and crouched there, wobbling a bit. "Now what?"

"Push through, Charley."

"You mean, like where the plates go when I'm done with them?"

"I suppose so, yes. Try and push your way out, the same way I came in. You should be able to feel something soft, and see golden sparks."

Charley waved her arms about, and poked her head this way and that. "Nothing! I suspect you're having me on, Doctor, and I'm likely to take a tumble if I stay up here much longer." She hopped down, the Doctor reluctantly catching her and easing her back to a safe footing on the carpet.

"I don't understand it." He leaned over the cart and effortlessly inserted his own arm so that it fully disappeared up to his elbow. He thought he would repeat the experiment with his other arm, and then perhaps his head, but he did not have time, for a rustling and rattling at the front door then a voice calling "Charlotte, I'm home!" had him diving for the other door that led from the little parlor.

He slipped through it just in time, hearts pounding. Looking about, the Doctor found himself in a small, old-fashioned water closet containing a pedestal sink and an antique tank-and-a-chain commode. There was, unfortunately, no window to escape through, and no possibility of further concealment. He stood still and held his breath, straining to hear what was transpiring on the other side of the door.

"Darling!" Charley greeted whomever it was who had just entered the room. "I was so happy to see you come home, and now here you are again."

"Whatever do you mean, my love, and, Hello." A small pause was just the right length for a kiss. The Doctor's shoulders tightened at the thought of this stranger invading Charley's personal space under false pretenses. Charley had said "Here you are again." The interloper did sound like himself–did he look like him, too? An impostor? He wished he could peep through a keyhole or open the door a crack, but there was no keyhole, and he did not dare give up his hiding place, just yet.

"Why I mean here you are, standing before me, and you've also just run into the water closet. Do you still want the supper I fixed for the other you? It's there on the table-well, it was. That's funny. It must have cleared itself."

"Supper? There's nothing on the table, you goose. I think you're poking fun at me. No, love, work day's done, I'm for some tea, that's all I require. I'll fix it myself, and while I'm at it, I'll fix yours, as well. It's the least I can do for my lovely wife."

Some tinkling of china ensued, and the stranger continued. "Now, I'll play along with your game. Why, pray tell, am I hiding in the _sal de bain_?"

"Oh, you must be playing 'Tom Tiddler's Ground'! You've claimed our home as your 'territory', and now you're lurking in the WC, waiting for the right moment to leap out and pounce upon us to catch us 'out'! I love a good game of Tom Tiddler. Come out, Tommy Tiddler! See if you can't catch me!" To his horror, the Doctor heard Charley approach his hiding place, and then she was throwing wide the door. She stood there grinning. "Found you!" she cried, merrily.

Over her shoulder, the Doctor saw the interloper. He was him, at least from behind. Same hair, same height, same clothes. Mercifully, his back was turned to them, pouring his tea, evidently not taking Charley seriously. _He must be very sure of the security of this little prison_, the Doctor thought. "Charley," he began, in a low voice, "shut the door and don't tell anyone I'm here, or you'll ruin the fun. Mum's the word. Don't tell a soul. Understand?" He laid a finger alongside his nose.

"Oh, very good, then, you're the one who's 'it', not I. Manage it your way." Charley winked at him and shut the door tightly again.

The Doctor's time senses were turning, making him feel queasy. That, and the sense of growing upset and anger at how Charley was being drugged and used. And to what purpose? The possible answers made him sicker, as they occurred to him.

Quiet conversation passed in the other room, little of which he could make out. Just a word here and there, like "exchange". Charley had asked him earlier if there was "trouble at the exchange". _Exchange, exchange, what exchanges here?_ He searched his mind for clues he might have encountered in the passageway and within this little prison cell, masquerading as a cosy home. _Masquerade, yes. Reality exchanged for fantasy. Matter appearing and disappearing. There must be a massive amount of energy being moved about._ His time sense did a flip-flop that nearly sent him to the floor, not from pain, but severe disorientation–time was not merely distorted here, it was positively bending round itself.

Panicking a bit now, the Doctor pressed his forehead against the door and tried to steady his consciousness. _Everything's starting to go wrong in my head, in this space. I can't even say how long I've been in here. Minutes? Days? Years? Got to get out, even if it means confronting this creature without knowing who or what it is, first. On second thought, I really shouldn't do that, might be dangerous. I should just crouch down here, and be very, very quiet._ A sense of fear overtook him. Not just fear, he realised. _Cowardice! I feel cowardly. Cowering, in here, hiding. Since when do I hide from trouble? Why, this isn't like me at all. No, I won't have it!_ Before he could lose his resolve, he burst back into the parlor, ready for whatever battle might come next.

Charley lay peacefully asleep on the divan, tucked in under a soft blanket, one arm thrown lazily above her head. There was nothing and no one else here any longer. _Was there anyone else here, before?_ The doubt moved into his mind. The figure he had glimpsed, his view had lasted just a fraction of a moment. It had been more of an impression really, seeing the man only from behind, and across a room. The vision seemed, in retrospect, to have been perhaps naught but shadows. _Or what if it was actually me, the real me, but existing at another time?_ The notion seemed possible, as time here felt as if it were tightening into the Gordian Knot of Earth's ancient lore. There was one thing the Doctor was certain of: "This is the most non-linear place I have ever been," he declared aloud.

Charley stirred and opened her eyes. The Doctor went to her and knelt down by her side. "Are you all right? Have you been hurt? What did that man, I mean, me, I mean, that's not me, Charley, that other man, what has he been doing to you? Has he hurt you in any way? Why is he keeping you here?" He could not stop the string of questions from streaming forth, not giving her a moment to comprehend, much less answer him.

Charley sat up and stretched. "What are you on about? You speak so strangely, these days. Everything is fine. You're the one I'm starting to worry for. How was work today? Lots of energy at the Exchange?" She squeezed his arm to encourage him and gave him a tired smile.

The Doctor got up from the floor and fell down upon the divan, to sit beside her. Sighing deeply, he dropped his head forward into his hands and ruminated for a bit in silence, trying to come up with some way forward from this.

"Charley?" he began, and turned towards her.

She interjected, "Now, there's a perfect example of what I mean 'bout you're being odd: I've never heard you call me 'Charley' before. I'm not saying I mind, but wherever did you get the idea? That was my childhood nickname. I don't believe I've ever told you it."

"Never mind that now, I need you to listen to what I am going to tell you, and promise me you will obey me to the letter. You do believe yourself to be my wife, am I correct in that?"

Charley nodded, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I 'believe' that, yes, though it's very odd to hear one's husband put it that way!"

"Good, good, then tell me, how do you feel about 'honor and obey' in marriage? Do you believe it's your duty to obey me?"

"Why yes, of course."

"Then listen to me, and promise you will follow my instructions." Charley nodded her assent. "I have to go now, but I will come back. Now here's what's important: When I come home through the front door, I want you to always say you have already eaten, and refuse any food or drink I offer you. Only when I come into the room via appearing atop the tea trolley do I want you to take food and drink. Do you understand? No eating or drinking anything, unless I appear atop the tea trolley and give it to you myself. Do not accept anything from me if I'm come home through the front door, but always tell me you've had plenty to eat and drink, already, if I ask. Tell me you understand the rules."

"Oh! This is like 'Mother May I'. You know, if you have your hand atop your head, you're really 'Mother' and then I should do as you say, but if it's down by your side, you're an impostor, and if I do as you say then, I'm 'out'."

"Yes! Yes! Clever, darling Charley, yes, it's just like a game of Mother May I. I am sorry, dear Charley, so deeply sorry that you are having to go through this. I swear I will get you out of here just as soon as I can find whatever is twisting things 'round. I cannot believe the Tardis has been completely compromised, I will find a way to free you, and in the meantime, I will come check on you and make sure you are comfortable."

"You always do." Charley patted his knee, and stood up. "Now for a spot of breakfast?"

"NO!" The Doctor jumped up and put himself between her and the tea cart. "No food or drink unless I give it to you. Promise me!"

Charley pouted a tiny bit, just for effect, then smiled. "The game's started then! Just have some mercy, and bring me some breakfast eventually, please?"

"Of course," the Doctor replied, and then, with great regret at having to leave his companion in this terrible situation, climbed atop the tea trolley and shoved himself through the soft, golden shimmering, back into the misty corridors from whence he'd come.

He wandered back towards where he believed his control room must lie, and begged aloud, "My Tardis, my oldest friend, please, if you can understand me, I need your help! Something or someone has come aboard, and they have Charley trapped in some sort of time-knot." He could feel the slightest pull at his core, moving him more surely in the direction he was already headed. "Good, you can hear me! That's a start." He quickened his pace. Time had to be of the essence, before Charley lost all sense of reality. _She said "of course" it was her "duty" to "obey" me._ He shuddered. The real Charley, his best friend, and he had to admit it, his love, she would never entertain such a notion, strong-willed and feisty as she was. He whispered to himself, with a hitch in his throat, "Oh, Charley. Your mind must already be half-gone."

Back in her well-appointed abode, which should have afforded her every assurance of well-being, Charley felt anxious. A collection of uncomfortable sensations and frightening thoughts came together in the hollow of her belly. She tried to focus on the idea of her fun new game, and repeated the rules over to herself, "If one Doctor comes through the door, I do not do what he says, but if another comes upon the tea cart, I must obey," until they became like a soothing mantra. In this way, she finally fell asleep, a bit calmer.

There were cries coming from across the room. From-where? From the fireplace she determined, terrible sobbings and moans, the fire and the coals from which it drew its life seeming together to form a living lamentation. Charley sat up and looked hard into the leaping flames, clutching her blanket 'round herself, up to her neck, as if it could protect her. The screaming continued on, and the hearth became no longer warm or merry, but now seemed as if it comprised the very mouth of hell.

A baby. A baby was screaming and then in a way that was completely unnatural, it screamed no more. Then a woman was sobbing, calling out pitifully in a language Charley did not recognize, though the tone was unmistakable. The woman was beside herself with grief. That horrible moment where something has happened that can never be undone, and every cell of one's body is calling out for time to reverse itself, and the human will twists and bangs about helplessly, like a loose limb in a relentless gale, until it is shorn off all together, and one is left horribly, irrevocably, torn.

She dove back down onto the divan and pulled the blanket over her head. Tears began to squeeze from between her eyes, and roll down her cheeks. She fought against the reality of this new experience. It was not possible! No, she was Charlotte, beloved and well-kept wife, spending her days playing amusing games, having nice things to eat, passing the time pleasantly, always, waiting for her husband, then welcoming him home, petting and entertaining him. How could she be hearing these terrible things? _I must be dreaming_, she concluded. _Nightmares_. But how she knew these things about grief, about tragedy, how she could possibly recognize them, she could not say. She rubbed her legs together, and tried to calm herself, wishing fervently that her husband would come home now, right now. And perhaps rub her back, and say soothing things. For there was a pain settling into her lower abdomen, that spread around her sides now, and throbbed just at the bottom of her spine. She fitfully drifted back to sleep, but with the thought occurring to her, once again, _Something is not right._

oOo

The quorum coalesced, and they were not happy. Not at all. The Agent could tell right off, by their lack of shimmer. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight nervously from one leg to another, as they manifested faces to interact with him. They were all scowling. _Great, just great. Just what I need when things aren't going well, pissed-off shape-shapeshifters. These Figurarae are a moody bunch of bastards–_ The Agent's musings were cut off by all of his employers speaking as one, in a high, whirring sort of Chorus.

"You report containment was breached. Explain."

"The Time Lord's ship, it's helping him. I can't understand how, but it is."

"Be specific!"

The Agent winced. The Figurarae's pitch went up into the painful registers when they were upset. Which they always seemed to be. He instinctively covered his ears as he continued speaking. "Yes, well, the Time Lord stumbled upon, or was led to, the precise point of the field's tangent bundle, and one of the vectors was manipulated somehow to allow him to flow along its curve lines into the containment chamber."

"We are looking for more than a restating of our first question, Agent One!"

"I don't know exactly how it was breached! I've told you, his ship is sentient, and it is helping him. By what mechanism, I have no idea, I'm not an expert on Gallifreyan technology, I was very up-front with you on that point when you were so desperate for anyone to take this job, if you recall. If you'd wanted that, you should have hired someone else." He took a deep breath to try and calm his anger. "I'm sorry, I apologize, all right? I did what I could-I popped a bunch of smoke in the corridor in question, to try and delay him when I realized he was on the move down there, but he's a persistent bugger. I'm under strict orders not to physically harm him or the girl, or damage the ship, so what would you have had me do at that point? Start firing? Look, I'm sorry it's not going well, believe me, if I knew how to fix the situation I would have done it straight off, not come looking to your Graces for ideas." _You have to stand up to these people_, he thought.

The Figurarae were still not shimmering, but they had stopped scowling. In a calmer, lower register, they continued pressing him. "You reported the Time Lord may have apprehended his bifurcation. Can that be confirmed?"

"No, I only suspect it. As you are aware, or maybe you aren't, but when you set up a field like this, you can't monitor activity going on inside of it to the degree where you have any direct audio or visual data. I can take general readings on heat input and output, and the temporal cycling is running off a routine that's still firmly in play, so we can be sure of how many estrus cycles the female has been through under medication, but tell you precisely what the Time Lord said or saw when he was in there? Sorry, I can't. I can tell you when he reappeared in his normal space-time, he headed straight for his controls and started scanning for the source of the field generator. When I jumped out, that's what he was doing."

Their faces melted away, and the Agent had to stand in silence as they communed. When they reformed they only bothered with the mouths and ears. Were they being rude, or were they trying to conserve? It made the Agent wonder how taxing this mission truly was on them. Certainly, providing the energy for it must be using a tremendous percentage of their resources.

They gave their ruling. "We will not throw good energy after bad. The containment field has been dismantled, the Human is loose aboard the time ship again. Her remaining cycles must be spent in a less demanding environment. We will supply a standard detention facility aboard your ship. We will supply all the required medicated food and drink, and you will continue to monitor the female. There's no need to feed them seperately. We are assured the Gallifreyan will not be affected by the compounds, only the Human."

The Agent could not believe what he was hearing. "We'll be running in real time! You're talking me, keeping these people prisoner, for four more months, aboard MY ship? Won't they be a little upset? I thought the whole idea of the bifurcation and the containment environment was to keep the poor thing happy while you sterilize her. I don't relish the idea of being the local torturer along with the jail keeper! This is nothing like what I was hired to do."

"We can supply additional medications to help elevate their mood. They will not understand the nature of their confinement. Tell them whatever you like to keep them calm."

"I suppose that will help...though I am getting a little fuzzy here on the morality of keeping them both drugged for this length of time!"

"If there was another option, we would pursue it, but there is not. You understand the critical nature of this endeavor, Agent One. You will do what you must. And, by the way, we estimate the mission costs have been reduced by sixty-eight percent under the new plan. We are willing to offer you a bonus of ten percent of the savings."

That stopped him short. _Ten percent of sixty-eight percent of the credit equivalent of an entire civilization's gross energy output for a week, that's about what the budget was, to start. Wow._ He was going to be a very, very rich man at the end of this. He shook his conscience awake–this had never been just about money. "I believe in your goals here, you know it's not about the money. I don't want to see the Oracle's foretelling come to pass, either. Just so we're clear on that!"

"But you find yourself properly and thoroughly motivated, we hope."

"Yes, yes, fine. Give me a few hours to think of how I'm going to move them. I don't want to do it by force. If there's anything I need, I'll let you know. In the meantime, I want to see the detention area installed and, oh, where should I park?"

"Anywhere but here." And then they were gone.

A handful of technicians, of various species, entered the audience room, and presented themselves to the Agent, a tall Yellowman stepping forward as the project leader, with drawings already on his pad for the proposed cell aboard the Agent's ship.

As they proceeded to get to work, the Agent wondered at the variety of civilisations represented on this one team. Many species had some "skin in the game", as the saying went, on this problem, and their concern was entirely justified. If what the Oracle had seen was allowed to happen, countless systems would be wiped out. The Time Lords had refused to even meet with them on the issue, refusing any and all calls for assistance. It was like they did not care, or worse, wanted them all to be wiped off the face of the universe. Upsetting as it was, looking their own demise in the face, these events had been a motivating force, and, in it's own ironic way, had ushered in a time of cooperation and peace not seen before.

And the money the Figurarae were throwing about, that was certainly greasing the way. The Agent winced a little. _It's really not about the money_, he repeated to himself, as he led the team aboard his ship, and began preparing in earnest Charley and the Doctor's new accomodations.


	3. Matrimonium

The door to the parlor flung open, and the Doctor ran in, wild-eyed. "Charley, come on, quickly before whatever I did stops working. You can walk out of here now, but I'm not sure if it will last." He held out his hand to her.

Groggy, she stood up from her armchair, setting down the book she had been reading. A china bowl with the shelled remains of a pomegranate, forgotten in the suddenness of the Doctor's appearing, fell from her lap to the carpet with a thud.

"Charley! Did you eat that? What did I say? Didn't you remember our game?"

She stepped forward and took his proffered hand. "Piggy in the Middle?"

He sighed and said, "Nevermind," and began to pull her from the room. She balked.

"Doctor, no, I can't! It's not safe outside, you've always said that!"

"Nonsense, it's our home. Come with me, you'll be fine. You're not thinking properly, you must trust me."

"No, I can't!" she cried.

Not willing to wait and argue with her, whilst whomever had been behind her captivity might be rebooting their field generator or sending for reinforcements, the Doctor grabbed her up from behind her knees and hoisted her easily to his chest, turned, and moved quickly up the steep, dark stairwell back towards the normal space of the Tardis. "Don't squirm so, or you'll send the both of us tumbling back down these stairs! You're safe with me, I promise."

"I'm frightened, my darling," she whispered, and buried her warm face in his neck.

"Shh, shh now, hush my love, you're fine. I've got you." The words came so easily to his lips. It was a relief to let them fall into her hair, her warm body pressed to him. Such a relief to let go and let her be this close.

They reached the welcoming familiarity of the Tardis' upper decks. "See, here's home again. Have a look, Charley, please, lift your head."

He passed the library, then the kitchens, naming them to her in passing, to orient her. They reached an ornate door. "Why, here are your rooms!" She swiveled to regard the doorway, and he stopped to let her look.

"Let me down," she urged, and he complied. She cautiously approached her door, reaching out to grasp its brass knob.

"It's not—this is not-this is outside, but it's inside, actually, isn't it—it's not, not dangerous here," she ventured. She seemed amazed at the revelation.

"No, no, it's not meant to be dangerous at all here in the Tardis. It's meant to be our retreat, Charley, our home, our safe haven. And those are your private quarters, your very own port in any storm." He was trying to sound as sure as he could, though the reality of the successful incursion that had just occurred weighed heavily on his mind, and his conscience.

She timidly opened her apartment door and walked in a few feet, then stood, looking about. The Doctor stepped quietly in behind her, instinctively reaching up to hold her shoulders, gently supporting her. How natural it was, to comfort her. To feel her warmth with his hands, to read her emotions through the small movements of her shoulders, the quickening of her heartbeat.

He realized with a startling sense of wonder that her assertion, in her captive state, that they were husband and wife, had not feel like a drug-induced hallucination to him—it had felt like a simple truth. One so elegant and beautiful, it must be contain an innate rightness. To put it simply, he was in love, and knew he had been for a long time. And now he was suddenly terrified she would come to her right mind, and not hold out her heart to him as she had been. She would, rightly, discontinue the illusion, and in doing so, likely throw him into despair, for he did not want it to end. He never wanted it to end.

Charley leaned back into the Doctor's supporting arms, not able to hold herself erect as the first wave of clarity hit her. "No, no, no!" she cried, her voice catching. "It can't be!" She looked around again, wildly, her breath coming quickly as her heart raced, and he knew the truth of it was becoming clear to her, all at once, as her mind cleared. "But-I was happy!" Tears began to flow down her face. The Doctor fished about for a handkerchief with one hand while holding her with the other. "I, I was, so happy, "she continued. "We were…together. Truly together. You would come home, and kiss me, and we would…" she faltered. "We were…nice. You _loved _me, and it was so nice." Now a sob came in earnest, as she cried, "But, it was all a lie, wasn't it! Someone told me a lie!" She turned to him, and the look of anguish that had come over her sweet features, it made his hearts come apart in pieces.

But at the same time his hopes began to soar. _Her meaning—is she saying what I think she's saying… _Gently he picked up her chin and looked into her eyes, and softly asked, "Do you want us to be together, that way? Is that what you mean?" He tilted her face closer now, towards his, carrying her lips to his. He was murmuring, with a barely contained ferocity he had not known the depth of until this moment. "Let me hear you say you mean it, Charley, that you wish you were mine, that all you want in the whole universe is to snuggle up with me after tea, to let me pet you and shower you with kisses, to make wherever we are together our home. Tell me, my darling, my love, tell me it's so—"

Charley's eyes widened in amazement but she barely hesitated before answering, "Yes, yes! Yes I love you, yes I want you, yes, I can't help it, you're everything to me," and with her declaration, closed the distance between them, and met his fervent, pressing mouth with her own.

oOo

The Agent wearily threw his lab coat onto the lounger and went to see what was in the cooler that might resemble dinner. It was hard on him when Sheila was away. She never cooked, or cleaned up much, but she was good moral support, and truly gifted when it came to locating the best take-away spots wherever they were docked. There was some cold rice and pickled veg in a carton towards the front. Towards the front usually meant it wasn't too far gone. Sheila had left for Trivus three days ago, so it was probably less than a week old. It would do.

He opened a bottle of ale, grabbed the carton and some chop sticks, and joined his lab coat on the chair. He snapped on the com system and looked up the sector news. There were the Figurarae, parading around with eight VIP heads of state and their entourages from earlier today. Reassuring everyone that the future was well in hand. Solar storms in Vagres affecting not one but two luxury passenger liners to the point where they had to cart in disposable diapers to tide them over. A lilting tone told him Sheila was calling in. He flipped to her signal and her warm, cheery face filled the screen.

"Hi baby," she greeted him.

"Hey, love."

"How's it goin'?"

"Not that good. Things have gotten more complicated." He filled her in, and spilled his heart to her about his misgivings. "I'm starting to not remember why I took this job. The thing is getting out of hand. I'm not sure you should come back here until this is over. If I were you, I wouldn't want to be associated or involved. If you want to stay there or maybe go to your sister's for a few months, I'll understand." He hung his head and picked at his rice and veg.

"Is that the Trunkeeze from last week?" She looked concerned, just now noticing his ersatz dinner.

"Not sure."

"Good gods, Acris, I would've thrown that out by now. Does it taste all right?"

"Dunno. I'm too worked up to taste anything."

"I'm coming back now. Tonight. I'll be there in the morning."

"Sheila, that's not necessary, I can handle things—"

"I'm sure you can, but you could use some support while you're doing it." She waited for him to insist she stay away, but he didn't. "Acris, I don't like this new plan any more than you do. We're good people, we're not kidnappers, I get that. But the Figurarae aren't, either. We're in a sort of temporal war here, a war for our lives and the lives of millions of other beings. I've lived in a grey area longer than you have, that's the truth of it. I've had more practice than you, even though I realize I'm the civvie and you're the pro."

"Yeah, thanks, babe. I'll run some ideas by you when you get here, then, about how to move them over here with a minimum of fuss. You will be way better at handling them face to face than I would. You're a much better liar." He gave her a little smile.

"Hey, I resemble that remark!" she replied and then blew him a kiss, before they declared their love and said good night, signing off, so Shiela could catch the next transport back to him.

oOo

For a good quarter of an hour now the Doctor had been pressing buttons and twisting little brass things. His furrowed brow and scowling frown was focused only on getting them as far from this point in space and time as he could, as fast as he could, in a direction well-known for its lack of anything remarkable. He needed to get them to somewhere peaceful, boring, where he could think this all through. He gave a sharp spin to a large wooden ship's wheel, the back hem of his frock coat swaying madly to and fro.

_As are his beautiful curls_, Charley noted from her perch. She was trying to stay quietly up out of the way, upon the great control room staircase. She was absent-mindedly running her hand up and down one of its heavily carved uprights. The dark wood was smooth, and following its ornate dips and curls with her fingertips was calming. Perhaps, unconsciously, she was reliving the soft stroking of the Doctor's lips upon hers, that had transpired a mere half-hour past. The feel, the excitement, the gorgeous scent of those kisses still lingered. She might never forget them. She wouldn't want to! The words he had spoken to her… That was before they had stumbled out into the console room, before their heads cleared, before the Doctor backed away from her, with a nearly horrified countenance. He had cast his eyes down in shame; he had become busy with the Tardis; he had turned away; he had not spoken to her since.

"That should get us some distance, then," the Doctor said, dropping his arms to his sides. No more piloting was needed, now there was nothing for it but to address this situation between his companion and himself. He glanced up at Charley and ran his hand nervously through his hair. _I kissed her_, he thought. There was no denying it. They had been under the influence of Rassilon knows what, but it had happened. Now there she sat, expecting things of him. He was going to have to break it to her gently—he had not been in his right mind. Something about that space she had been kept inside, either that space or exposure to her, it had done something to him, too. He looked up at her upon the stair; her eyes were bright with emotion. As her gaze met his, she immediately turned up the corners of her rose-colored lips. He knew some renewed hope was already playing upon them, at re-gaining his attention. He had to put a stop to it. Now.

He walked toward her, bravely putting on a weak smile of his own. She reached out a hand to him, and taking it, he bounded up the few stairs to reach her, then eased himself down beside her. As if guided by its own logic, he found his hip gently pressed to hers. To him their frequent physical contact was a blessedly cosy thing, the comforting chummy-ness of comrades at arms. He enjoyed it tremendously, yes, but there was nothing erotic in it, nothing like that at all. Allowing her to think their touch might be romantic, sexual, that it could ever become anything like that, that had been cruel. He was anxious to have her understand the cruelty had not been of _his_ doing. He cleared his throat. "Charley, I'm not certain as to the mechanism, but whilst I was trying to rescue you I became quite fuddled—"

Charley interrupted him, her voice strained as she attempted a lightness she did not truly feel. "Doctor, no need to apologise, I know you would have got me out sooner if you could have done. Besides, from what I remember, it was I who was balmy on the crumpet, as they say—"

"Yes, but I said things, did…things, which, in my right mind, I would never—"

A sharp horn blared through the vault of the Tardis, cutting the Doctor short. It came again, becoming an obvious klaxon. The Doctor started to his feet.

"Why, that's a collision warning!" the Doctor said. "But, but how's that possible? We're in the vortex, what could there be for us to run into?" He bounded back down to assess his controls. He grabbed at fistfuls of his curls, saying "No, no, no, NO!" Then he shouted, "Charley, hold onto something, tightly!"

A terrible clanking and grinding noise began, the sound, Charley remembered, of several automobiles careening into a pile-up. She had witnessed that, at a busy intersection, once. Five cars, and then there had been the steam pouring out of burst radiators, and shouting, and one lady being pulled out, crying. She felt her stomach tilt queasily. She nervously threw her arms about the nearest newel-post and gripped it until her fingertips went pale. The expected jolt never came. She released her hold and looked about. "Why, nothing's happened. What a horrible noise for nothing to have come of it!"

"I can't understand it," the Doctor answered. "Dropping out of temporal progression to contact something corporeal with the vortex, the energy that would be generated would be tremendous." He looked into a brass viewbox and checked a dial. "There is something out there; from these indications, we should have experienced a vigorous crash." The Doctor flicked open his large view screen. "Let's see what it is…look, Charley, it's another piloted vessel! And we do seem to have hit her."

The view screen revealed, floating gently beside them, a space craft of modest size, of a rather elegant design. Its streamlined hull was gleaming, new. "Stylish thing, isn't she. Such a shame," the Doctor tutted, "appears we've given her a nasty dent." Charley could make out the shadow of a deep dimple in the unfortunate ship's side, smeared with paint chips of a tell-tale police box blue.

"The Tardis must have been able to absorb the shock so as to shield us entirely, but as for other party..." the Doctor muttered. With a grim set to his lips, he said, "Let's hope we can still be of some help to them."

"I'm going to pull them in closer, Charley. Go, open the doors, and tell me when they're at arm's reach. I've got a field extended around us both."

Charley did as he asked of her, though she was always a bit leery of opening up the front Tardis doors in the midst of space. The shield was in place, though—she could see its shimmer against the backdrop of the stars they had dropped into. The other ship's hull gently nudged closer. "Almost there, and, stop," Charley commanded. The craft floated right at their threshold.

The Doctor came to stand beside her. Leaning forward, he put his hands against the hull and hollered into them, "Hallo, there! Can anyone hear me? All you all right?" There was no immediate answer. "Listen, I'm going to cut through your hull, hang on." He said, "Charley, wait here in case they respond, I'm going to get my cutting torch and I'll return in a mo'."

Before he could get two steps away, a whining, whirring sound emanated from the smaller craft's hull. Charley and the Doctor watched as the outline of a portal materialized along the ship's skin, the metal then parting away from itself, to make a proper hatchway. "Protean ductility," the Doctor noted. "That's quite advanced technology."

Stepping forth into the newly-made doorway, a humanoid woman, slight of stature and appearing quite dazed, said, "I'm afraid we've caused an accident. I'm Sheila, my husband, he's hit his head and is passed out I think. Do you have any medical facilities aboard?" The woman looked past Charley and the Doctor, into the Tardis, as if scanning for the medkit she required. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "It's bigger on the inside!"


End file.
